


Catch the sun before it's gone 5/?

by Abi_Sapien



Series: Catch the sun before it's gone [5]
Category: MMFR, Mad Max Fury road, Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Touching, Rape/Non-con Elements, emotionally constipated war boys, slit u asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:53:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4718465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abi_Sapien/pseuds/Abi_Sapien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 5-ish: in which Nux spends most of the time unconscious and Slit is a bit of a dick. Warning: dubious consent, consent issues. I am so sorry, but Slit refuses to behave because he doesn't know how to access his feelings properly and he's also an asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch the sun before it's gone 5/?

  
  
             It's as dark, and as quiet as it gets in the Citadel where the War Boys sleep. Some are talking quietly in the far corner of the giant dorm. There's the telling rythmic shuffling of cloth to be heard somewhere. Breathing, a lot of breathing, a lot of snoring.  
  
Slit isn't sleeping. He is staring at the blue-tinted ceiling where the shadows thrown by the few torches still aflame flicker and dance.  
He is listening to the unsteady breathing from the bunk next to his. He was woken by the coughing, again. He briefly thought about throttling Nux and be done with it and go back to sleep, undistrurbed this time. But what the hell, there was always someone making noise. Coughing, moaning, talking in their sleep, their dorm was the smallest but still, there was always some racket and why can't he sleep if Nux is coughing?  
  
He wonders if he can reach Nux without getting up and kick him on the head just by extending his leg far enough. At the thought Nux stops coughing. He stops breathing altogether. Slit pricks his ears. The complete silence from the cot next to his continues. His own heartbeat is booming inside his skull, threatening to drown any other sounds, when Nux finally gasps in a shocked gulp of air and coughs again. The thunder inside Slit's head quiets down, settles into hammering inside his chest. He is thoroughly awake now.

Fuck, if he punched Nux now, who could tell if he wouldn't just crumble to dust like an old, sun-bleached bone under a car tyre?  
  
He sits up and stretches his neck to see his mate, his cot on the foot of Slit's. He sees Nux's pale, bald head in the dim light. Nux is lying on his side, his back against the stone wall, he has curled into a tiny ball with his arms crossed across his chest and knees pulled up against his stomach. He's not wearing his shoes. He's lost his blanket and he's obviously cold. The tremors wash over him like lapping waves.

  
  
The night fevers, of course. It didn't take long to begin with those, then.  
  
Slit absent-mindedly fiddles at his ear and the numb bulb of the tumor just on the underside of it. He got the lumps, check. It had been a long time, over three hundred days, when that appeared. No fevers, though. His hearing on that side wasn't as good as it were, but that was pretty much all the trouble he got from his lumps. His reminders, that they were half-life and already halfway to death when they were born. All of them. Some were quicker, some slower to achieve their life-long destiny of riding to Walhalla, shiny and chrome. The slow way was mediocre – the constant, depressing survival in battle. It left a War Boy hanging on a loose noose, not knowing if they'd waste away, useless at the sick bay, or worse, die soft in their sleep.  
  
Slit slowly slides his feet off the legde that is his sleeping place. The dusty stone floor is cool under his bare soles. He looks for the nearest pup and nudges one, sprawling on the edge of a small pile of them, curled up on the floor with their blankets, with his big toe. The pup slowly lifts his head and squints at him, immediately perking up when realizing who is responsible for waking him up.

  
“ Morn', Pup. Put your little feet to a good use and run to Ace and ask for a generous swig of his rotten rotgut. Tell him that Slit needs it,” Slit tells the pup, his voice barely above a whisper. “ You do know where Ace sleeps?”  
  
The pup nods enthusiastically, still sleepy-wobbly but eyes already wide because he gets to run an errand for an older War Boy in the middle of the night. Got to love them pups. Slit snorts quietly through his nose.  
  
The sound of a retreating pair of small bare feet patter in the stony caverns. Nux isn't coughing now, but at least he's breathing, Slit must notice. He stands next to his mate and looks down, head slightly cocked to the side.  
  
There's the blood brace. Locked firmly around Nux's wrist. Like he needed to be chained up somehow, like kamacrazy boys sometimes, when they went bugshit-crazy and turned on their brothers.  
  
They'd already refueled Nux several times. Premium guzzolene, Full-life blood. Slit himsef, he had no-one elses bodily fluids inside his body, but his own. He had been more resilient than most, he had been spared, he was sure, for something totally chrome. No blood braces for Slit. He felt pretty great, with his shot ear and eye and scars and all. He was metal, he was shine, and he had always scoffed at those who faded away like flesh does, if left in the sun for too long. But fucking _hell_.  
  
“ Damn it, Nux, “ he sighs.

  
  
“ Slit!”  
  
A small, excited voice near his elbow. It was the pup, out of breath and offering him a small beaten flask with both hands. “ From Ace!”  
  
Slit accepts the offering graciously and grants the pup a lop-sided grin and rubs his small, shaved head. Liquid inside the flask splashes promisingly.  
  
“ Cheers. Now go back to sleep with your brothers and don't make a peep.”  
  
He gently shoves the pup on his way and opens the flask. The smell hits him in the nostrils like a pungnent, guzzolene-soaked fist and makes his eyes water. It's Ace's Finest, all right. You could probably peel paint off a car with the stuff, but it's best use was either to get yourself tripping your tits off or, mixed with guzzolene, really amp up a fine-tuned engine. This was the third use: lubing up the pipes of a dying mate.  
  
Slit squats by Nux's bedside and grabs his sleeping mate's shoulder to shake him awake. Nux trembles slightly in his grasp. His whole body shakes slightly. The fever must be running high now.

  
“ Oi, Nuts. Rise n' shine.”

  
Nux's eyelids stir slightly. His eyebrows rise but it looks like his eyelids are glued together and refuse to open.  
  
“ Slit?” he mumbles, his voice sounding muffled like it came from underground.

“ Yeah, it's me. Open those big, pretty peepers, I got a present for you,” Slit encourages.

This makes Nux furrow his brow and finally pry one of his eyes open. His eye looks bloodshot and bleary and not all that pretty at the moment, actually. Nux looks like shit trampled over twice.

  
  
“ I feel like shit,” Nux whispers in that slowed-down, buried-in-dirt-voice of his.  
“ I know. You have kept me awake with your fucking coughing all night. So, listen, I need you to be a good boy and drink this.”  
  
Slit pushes the mean-smelling small flask at Nux, who reacts several blinks too late and then just shrivels away from the flask and the smell emanating from it.

  
“ Holy Joe! That's...”  
“ Ace's Finest. Bottoms up, puppy.”  
  
Slit is relentless, offering the flask, ready to wrestle Nux down and pour the rotgut down his throat by force himself, until Nux slowly unscrews his face and wraps his long, fumbling fingers around the flask and pulls it to his lips.  
  
“ Sit up or you'll drown, you bonehead,” Slit groans.  
  
He manages to prop Nux up until he's leaning against his unsteady elbow and Nux bravely downs the contents of the flask with one, long swig. He starts coughing before he's finished and sputters a bit, and Slit confiscates Ace's flask before it falls on the floor. Slit has a bottle of Aqua Cola ready and wordlessly he offers another swig, this time hopefully less violent. Cringing, Nux tries to swallow his coughs and takes the Aqua Cola gratefully. Slit waits until he has caught his breath and then pats him on the back.

  
“ Better?”  
  
Nux looks at him, finally both his eyes almost all the way open, and offers a pale-lipped, weak smile. Almost like his tremors are dying down already.  
  
“ You're getting refueled when the morning comes,” Slit continues, matter-of-factly.

Nux keeps staring at him, slowly blinking, that stupid small smile still dangling in the corners of his mouth. He looks ridiculous, almost all of his war-paint rubbed off, leaving only streaks and patches of grey smudges. He looks very pink and very half-life.

“ It's kicking in already? Holy shit, that's chrome. Ace's Finest indeed.” Slit pats Nux's shoulder happily.

  
  
“ You said my eyes are pretty,” Nux drawls, so slowly it's like his tongue had been dipped in tar.

  
He is obviously tripping balls, because of the fever or the rotgut, or the combined effect of both.

Slit has to fight back a roaring laughter threatening to burst out. He settles for a stifled giggle, drags his hand up Nux's arm, over the two smiling tumors on the side of his neck and clamps his palm across the back of Nux's head, bumping their foreheads together. He hadn't noticed before but when their foreheads touch, he realizes that Nux's skin feels searingly hot, like the hood of a car left outside in the sun. He was wearing his glove when he put his hand on Nux's shoulder.

  
  
“ Yeah? I did. Because they are. Real fucking pretty.”  
  
They both giggle at that. Slit wonders, his mouth wetting, if Nux's lips are as hot as his skin is right now. Would it burn if he put his mouth on Nux's?

  
He carefully pulls Nux's head closer and leans in the remaining few inches until their lips touch. Nux's lips are endlessly enticing: the fascinating mix of the soft-wet of the lips and the hard-smooth of the scars marring them. It's surprising, how his lips are a lot softer than they look.

  
  
Right now he tastes like the bitter moonshine and something almost sickly sweet. Slit moves his lips across Nux's, feeling the shallow ridges of the scars and the luscious softness between them with his own, shamelessly using Nux's listless state to his advantage. Hard, and soft: the scar tissue feeling a _lot_ cooler than the almost searing, sweet, moist inside of Nux's mouth.  
  
Slit feels Nux's fingers on the tip of his chin. His fingers are cold as metal. Slit imagines those cold fingers stealing their way across his stomach and under the waistband of his pants and he has to breathe in, real quick, through his nose.

  
He already has a hold on Nux: he just grabs the back of his neck and pulls Nux even closer to himself, dragging his mouth from Nux's across his cheek, down his jawbone - angular bone hard under the skin; he'd want to linger there and scrape his teeth against it - but it's almost like he can _smell_ Nux's pulse, it smells like hot iron under the thin skin of the side of his long, pale neck, and he has to taste it, the pulse and heat. Maybe it's the full-life-fuel that he smells inside Nux's veins. Whatever it is, it smells good.  
  
He opens his mouth against the side of Nux's neck. He can feel the pulse throbbing, hard, against his lips and tongue. Nux's skin is so hot. Hot like freshly spilled blood. He tastes faintly of metal, too. Like welded metal, the smell, or taste, is like freshly welded metal, bitter and sweet and dizzying.  
  
He breathes the sensation in deep, his nose buried against skin, his mouth latched against the streak of pulse running from Nux's heart to his head. The thrum is relentless, but sluggish and uneven.  
  
Nux feels like he's melted into Slit's hands, his head lolling back and his breathing slowing down. Slit runs his mouth back up the exposed side of Nux's neck, until his nose is in the crook of the angle of Nux's jawbone and his earlobe. The heat and the scent is almost unbearable there.  
  
Slit nuzzles his nose in to the scent, not caring, that they are in the middle of a sleeping cave full of their sleeping and not-sleeping brothers and pups. All he cares about right there is the intoxicating heat against his hungry mouth.

  
Nux is strangely quiet though. Slit ponders the fact briefly through the cloying haze of lust dimming all his senses.  
Usually Nux can't shut up, and though Slit would never admit to it, the breathy, small and not-so-small noises he makes when Slit has his way with him make Slit's blood run fast, and hot, and delicious, and and straight to his groin. So he kind of misses those noises.  
  
He nudges Nux's earlobe with his nose.

  
“ Hey.”

No response.

  
Slit pulls away to look at his mate.  
  
He is absolutely out cold. His face is calm in peaceful slumber – finally – he's not even shivering that bad anymore. Mouth slightly open, head tilted awkwardly back over Slit's arm holding him. Slit almost drops him down in a surge of ire that burns his stomach.  
  
“ For fuck's sake,” Slit growls. “ You utter loser.”  
  
He should be satisfied that he's sleeping, and he's quiet, yet he just feels so fucking betrayed.

  
Ace's gutrot was more effective than he imagined. _Thanks_ Ace.  
He lets go of Nux and grabs the blanket he brought from his own bed with unnecessary force. Nux's own blanket seems to be on the floor in the foot of his cot. Slit stomps over and snatches the bundled fabric like it was a pup in need of a good shake by the scruff of their neck. His heart feels like it has climbed halfway up his throat and is demanding to get out, pounding hard against his clavicles and hammering it's angry fists against his temples.

  
He got what he fucking wanted, didn't he? Some quiet. Fuck.

  
He spreads both of the blankets over Nux and makes sure to shove his bare feet under there too. His feet are cold as stone. Funny how the feverish heat doesn't reach his hand or feet. Slit imagines it has too long a way to travel. Nux's legs and arms are ridiculously long. Slit runs his hand from Nux's ankle to his hip and grins. A long road to travel indeed. A long road he has never had the opportunity to properly explore. The few times they've jumped each other's bones it has been delightful, yes, but also rushed in their blind lust or cut short by some outside disturbance. There has never been time or patience for – for – what he had been prepared to do, in the day of the big storms, in the shadows of the rock towers, but Nux had been so fucking _stubborn_ , and –

  
Then, the dawning thought: except now.

  
Slit rests his hand in the slight curve of Nux's waist.  
  
The thought sends electricity into his muscles again. It seems to quiet the hammering behind his temples. Water down the bitter bile rising in his throat. It's a nice thought. Slit smiles to himself.  
  
He bends over Nux's sleeping form, pushing his face close to Nux's. He watches his driver intently from a close distance. There are deep, dark shadows under Nux's eyes, and it's not just war paint, like his eyes were somehow sunken deeper inside his skull already like a dead man's. Slit puts his nose and mouth close to Nux's. Their lips almost touch. A soft breeze of air touches his lips: at least he's still breathing.  
  
Slit reads the rows of jagged scars around the soft mouth with the pad of his thumb, following his finger with his eyes, barely seeing anything but a blur of black and white and pink. He presses his mouth on Nux's slightly parted, unanswering lips, tries a gentle bite. It makes Nux stir slightly. A small, barely audible sound escapes his throat. Heat shoots into Slit's groin, making his vision go darker around the edges.

  
Slit moves his mouth until it's against Nux's ear.

“ Move,” he whispers.

  
His lips dragging against the hot ridges and valleys of Nux's earlobe. Nux shighs deeply like a dying mutt, but arranges his long body into a smaller shape, like he always does, making room for Slit to climb in to the bed.  
  
  
It's not like it is the first time they're sharing a bed. They've been sharing their space with each other since they were in the same pup piles, thousands of days ago.  
Slit crawls under the blankets. His feet were getting cold anyway. It's desert-hot under there, with Nux's feverish body radiating warmth like an overheated engine.  
  
Slit puts his hand against Nux's chest, against the raised, sleek forms of the scars, the long straight lines, circles and whorls linking into each other and forming a sacred picture. Reads the entire tattoo with his fingers roaming freely. His high-rank driver with his high-rank scarification. He slips his arm under Nux's, pulls himself close, until their bodies are pressed flush together. He pulls Nux's leg between his. Warms his cold toes behind Nux's bent knees. Nux is a heavy, torrid hot weight against him. His languor makes him feel even heavier, and somehow it turns Slit on even more. He is hard as a rock against Nux's thigh.  
  
He imagines Nux's long, cool fingers wrapping around his aching, burning cock and shoves his own hand in to his pants and grabs himself, the real touch however paling in comparison with the imagined one. Slit huffs in annoyance. Buries his face in the crook of Nux's neck, drowning himself in the familiar scent of dust and sweat and welded metal. It helps. Pushes the reality of their current surroundings further away and lets him concentrate to the sparks flickering in the base of his spine as he pulls on himself.

  
Since they started – since _it_ first happened, whatever it was, Slit has been profounly dissatisfied with wanking by himself.

  
Fucking Nux spoiling him for himself!  
  
The presence of another body, another warm, breathing, throbbing, fighting, willing body was so exciting, so arousing, it could not be copied and imagination barely made a substitute. Suddenly Slit found himself wanting that presence, when in need of a release, and despite his efforts (his few relentless and disappointing efforts) he just seemed to prefer Nux among all his brothers. Because it just worked. They worked. Their cogs and wheels fit into each other, turning smoothly, not catching, not dragging. They worked together like a well put-together machine.

  
  
“ Brother mine,” he mumbles into Nux's skin. Hearing his own voice, so thick with want, even that sends a jolt of pleasure to his cock. He carefully grinds down against Nux's thigh, enjoying the pressure and the simple weight and _there_ of another body, unconscious as it was. He's trying to keep his movement small and inconspicuous. To keep up the illusion that they could be just sleeping.  
  
It's hard. He has to hold his breath and his chest is straining, but his breathing is turning ragged and heavy, betraying him. He bows his head down, half hiding under the blankets, where it's incredibly hot, letting the two blankets and his open mouth against Nux's collarbone muffle the sound of his gasps.  
  
Nux stirs, just barely. Swallows, a sluggish movement of his throat under the fine skin of his neck, coughs weakly a couple of times. Sounds – granted, not as bad as before. Seems not to be aware of Slit so close to him, humping against his leg, or anything else for that matter. Slit holds his breath. Doesn't know why. Nux's hand lands listlessly on the side of Slit's head, his fingers cold as the grip of a mediocre death creeping in the night. Fingers curl softly around his skull, cradling his head, thumb resting (so cold) against Slit's malformed earlobe.

Nux's eyelids crack open just a fraction and dazed, he looks at Slit. A weak smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The cold thumb rubs along the edge of Slit's earlobe.

 

“ Slit?” he says quietly.

Slit is still holding his breath and forcing himself to be very still.

 

“ Yeah,” he manages. Tries to sound normal.

“ Am I dying?”

 

For a second everything goes quiet, colder. Slit stares at Nux who's looking back at him, pale eyes gleaming and feverish. Still petting at his ear with his thumb.  
  
Something foregin is bleeding into Slit's bloodstream, mingling with it, both hotter and cooler than his own blood, pooling into the base of his cock, sweet as mother's milk.

He shakes his head a little.

 

“ Not tonight.”

Nux smiles. Shifts sluggishly, pressing his hips momentarily closer. Caught, definitely caught now.

 

“ Oh, good.” Nux's breath rattles, not unlike small pebbles in an exhaust pipe. He's still holding his slightly unfocused pale blue gaze on Slit. Now definitely slowly moving his hips against Slit's.

“ You... you feel … good, “ he sighs softly.

 

Slit's breath hitches despite himself. He grips his throbbing cock harder, sliding his hand down, slow and thorough. Pulling back up, pulling foreskin over the sensitive head, and pushing slightly into the slick smoothness. His vision sparkling bright and soft like smoke-bombs detonated against the blue of the desert sky. He presses his face against Nux's hot chest.

  
_You won't die_ , he thinks, half-mumbling it breathlessly against Nux's hot, smooth-scarred chest, rising-falling in easy rhythm against his mouth. His thoughts muddle up and tumble all over each other.  
He knows he's close, the lovely sparks catching slow fire in his spine and lower belly, like a flame catching a streak of guzzolene and snaking along, lighting up as it goes. His hand working slick and steady, speeding up, fanning the delicious fire.

 

 _You won't die soft. You'll die in a battle, glorious and chrome. You're my driver. There will be a battle. If there won't, well go and make one. With the Buzzards, with the Rock Riders, with any of the hostiles, I don't care._  
  
“We'll start a war.”  
  
He breathes the thrilling words into Nux's skin, eyes blurring, his working hand shaking, and comes. He has to press his open mouth against Nux's chest not to moan aloud. He's very probably leaving teethmarks behind. Nux's breath catches momentarily when Slit sinks his teeth into his skin and he squirms against Slit.

 

“ Ow, you _twat_ ,” Nux hisses, slurring, half-heartedly pushing Slit's face away, and then immediately cradling his head again in his hand and pulling him closer. Slit chuckles and gives in without resistance. Rests his forehead against Nux's collarbone, steadying his breath, his junk throbbing slightly sore and quite satisfied, his ears tingling and burning and buzzing.  
  
He chuckles to himself. Doesn't move for a long while. The ire gone and the blinding lust slowly dissipating and Nux's irritating cough apparently gone for the night, Slit feels like he might fall asleep again. He wonders briefly if Nux will remember where the two crescents of teethmarks adorning his skin came from when he sees them.  
  
He ponders if he should feel a little bit guilty, but he doesn't. He just feels sated and pleasantly tired. And very, very warm. Almost too warm. He has to make room between him and Nux before he boils to death.

  
He pulls away from their full-body contact, both their skins sweaty and hot now. It feels cooler already. Nux's hand slides across Slit's cheek as he crawls further away, and falls limply to the small space forming between them. Slit tucks it under the blankets.  
  
He briefly checks on Nux. Sleeping, again, like the soft dead, peacefully in one whole piece, not even snoring. His lungs rattle a bit though, like there was a handful of small bolts and nuts loose inside him. Slit's eyes travel down at the two unmistakable, grinning lumps on the junction of Nux's neck and shoulder. He pulls the blankets up to cover them but can't resist an evil little grin.

  
  
“ I won, fuckers,” he says quietly before hiding the offending tumors from sight.  
“ V8,” Nux answers reverently, sound asleep. Slit wants to laugh so bad.

“ Yeah, V8, puppy,” Slit responds, the grin still hovering on his face as he pets Nux's head almost gently. “ If you start coughing again, I will roll you out of this bed and on to the floor.”

 

He turns his back to Nux and his feverish heat and folds his arm under his head, and sleeps.

 

 


End file.
